This is a cold war
by obedientlittlevictor
Summary: You better know what you're fighting for. Mike spends a year clean before he's thrown back into the underworld of drugs.
1. Chapter 1

"Paige, we all know that I'm the logical choice here!" Mike exclaims and slams his hands against the granite of the kitchen countertop.

"No, Mike. It's my operation and I am telling you that I don't want you on this team." Paige pushes back the bar stool and matches Mike's pose with her slender fingers spread next to her plate of eggs and toast.

Their roommate breakfast started amicable as always, Johnny joking about how their best breakfast was still from the daughter of Hector's Tacos, Charlie arguing how she is a better cook, Jakes making an attempt to bring Johnny down a notch by choosing Charlie's side. A ping from Paige's laptop interrupted the carefree fun and forced some gravity into their kitchen. Her operational timeline was moved forward by the higher-ups in the DEA and now she has to make up for it.

Paige was tasked with going under with a notorious drug kingpin in Southern California who specialized in XO, a combination of ecstasy and oxycontin that only served to get more popular by some rapper. Oxy was a sensitive topic around the house, and Mike was more than capable of sensing that.

"Guys, I don't need fucking kid gloves. It's been a year. I had an addiction. I cleaned up. Now I don't have an addiction," Mike tries to reason but notices his voice was too aggressive to sound reasonable. He looks to Charlie for support, the only one of the housemates that could even look him in the eyes. The men seem suspiciously interested in clearing their plates as quickly as possible.

"It's her call, Mikey," Charlie soothes but her velvety deep tone only annoys him now. He can hear the hesitation in her voice; she really wants to support him, but under it all, the choice really is Paige's and Paige's alone. He can't fault Charlie for knowing that and believing in that, but he's still bothered.

Mike throws his hands in the air as he realizes he's already lost. Paige keeps the stern look on her face and shakes her head. Mike turns and stalks out of the kitchen, slamming the side of his fist into the metal of the refrigerator. The noise startles everyone, but they don't make a move to follow him out the door.

Briggs is the first to break the silence. "He's right, you know."

Paige lets out a sigh, "Et tu, Brute?"

"Our XO dealer is expecting you to have a military connection. That's how you're getting the oxy, remember?" Briggs asks in a condescending voice and Paige rolls her eyes. "Mike is the most cut out to be military. He's used that cover before and he's good at it."

Paige drains the last of her coffee and tosses her dishes haphazardly in the sink. She's already put a request through to the DEA for a clean-cut undercover operative, but they told her it could take a few weeks. She had five days until her meet with the dealer and was trying to think about her options. She originally asked Johnny, but his cover with the Malaysians would interfere with the timeline. Mike was the logical choice, and she couldn't be any less happy about that.

"Fine. Okay, fine," Paige concedes and grabs her running jacket from the back of her chair. "I'll be with him the whole time, but if he relapses, this shit isn't on me."

She's out the door with her Nike's on before she realizes that's a lie. If Mike relapsed, it would still be on her. No matter how much time passed or how many times he forgave her, there is always a black inkling of self-loathing, knowledge that it is all her fault.

Kicking up the same sand Mike had minutes ago, Paige sets a steady jogging pace towards Mike's sun-lit figure down the coast.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Title is from Cold War by Janelle Monae. This story will be multi-chapter. Thank you for reading and reviewing!**


	2. Chapter 2

Paige catches up to Mike where he's sitting under the pier a few miles from the house, watching the waves crash unfaltering against the rocks and wood. His breathing is back to normal, a true testament to how far he's come since last year when he could barely run half a mile without having to stop. That's the danger of the pills, and she hates them for taking away the Mike they knew.

"Tired already?" She jokes, but it seems to fall on deaf ears. It's not his style to childishly ignore her, so his avoidance of her eyes makes her worry. Dropping down to the rock beside him, Paige nudges her shoulder against his and tries again to get his attention. "Hey."

"Yeah. Yeah, Paige. I'm fucking tired." When Mike turns to face her, her breath catches in her throat from the intensity of his blue eyes. "I'm tired of all of you walking on eggshells around any federal investigation that involves oxy-"

"There haven't been-" Paige defends before letting her words trail off. It's a lie. There have been four since last year, but she's managed to keep them on the house's backburner, low key enough that she and the DEA tactical team could handle them without help. She thought she had been discreet, but apparently not.

"Please, save it," Mike barks out a cynical laugh and shakes his head in resignation. "The first one, hell, the first two I could understand, they were so close after. But now, really? Don't you know, Paige? There are no secrets in Graceland."

Paige doesn't have anything to say to that, so she turns to look out at the rhythmic waves. The wind blows the loose tendrils of her hair around her face and she can still feel Mike's eyes on her.

"I need you to trust that I can handle this operation," Mike says and his tone is sufficiently normal again. There's no venom in his voice this time. "I need you to trust me."

It's almost as if he's begging her to give him something she doesn't know if she can give. She wants to trust him. He hadn't made a single attempt at relapsing, but he's also never been in the ready proximity of oxy to relapse.

"I do trust you, Mike," Paige affirms instead, partially believing herself. She trusts him with a lot of things: she trusts him to shoot straight, she trusts him to put the mission before his own safety when the op calls for it, she trusts him to take care of her when she's sloppy drunk and puking in the toilet after a night of trying to forget too many regrets.

The truth is, she doesn't want to trust him not to fall back into the bottomless abyss of addiction, because if he did, it would be because of her. She doesn't know if she can live with that a second time.

"Then put me on the Daley operation," Mike prods and she finally looks back at him. He sees the acceptance in her eyes when they meet his and his face breaks into a small smile. "Gavin Daley is no amateur drug slinger. I don't want you out there alone."

"You already looked into him, didn't you?" Paige laughs and runs her hands through her hair. Typical Mike. She should have remembered that there were truly no secrets in Graceland and any of her attempts are futile.

"I told you," Mike admits, a blazing look of sincerity on his face, "I don't want you out there alone."

There's the hovering continuation of that sentence. _Again_. He left her alone once and it ended with her drenched in blood with a body in their living room.

He looks like he has a confession on the tip of his tongue, but Paige isn't sure she's ready to hear him say what she knows deep down he wants to say. She's fairly certain she knows what it would be; they've been getting closer in the past year. Not physically, but as friends. Actual friends and not just work operation friends. She thinks he loves her.

She can't hear that right now. Not when her oxy operation brings this much fear about Mike. About both of them.

Instead, Paige stands and offers her hand out to Mike. "Race you back to the house?"

"Hell yeah. Loser makes lunch."

Mike grabs her hand and hauls himself up. He makes to pull her closer, but Paige takes off sprinting toward Graceland with his laughter ringing out behind her.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Thank you for reading and reviewing!**


	3. Chapter 3

Paige takes another deep pull from the cigar between her fingers and forces herself not to cough. She hates those things, but they're in a cigar bar waiting to meet Gavin Daley and his XO crew, and she needs to be able to blend in. Mike is to her left, doing a significantly worse job at not coughing with each inhale of his cigar.

"For fuck's sake, Mike, have you ever smoked a cigar?" Paige hisses behind a puff of smoke.

Mike clears his throat again and takes a sip of his double whiskey. "Not really!"

"God, I should have brought Charlie. She doesn't look military, but at least she knows how to handle a cigar," Paige groans in mock disapproval. Mike shoots her a glare but can't hold it for even a second. They've been in a good place so far, ever since Paige extended enough trust to him to strategize Daley's take-down with him.

"That's what you get for agreeing to such a shitty meeting spot," Mike teasingly lamented.

"This is what you get for being such a straightedge," Paige shot back. It's almost laughable that she would call him that; he's the one with the oxy addiction under his belt. He doesn't protest her words but just shoots her a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

Their conversation is interrupted when Daley appears, clad in a suit that costs as much as Paige's entire wardrobe, with a glass of whiskey in hand. He's flanked by three enormous bodyguards.

"The ever lovely Ms. Dwyer," Daley greets Paige as she stands to kiss his cheek.

"Mr. Daley, my partner, Mr. Mike Hughes."

Mike shakes Daley's hand with a "Nice to meet you, sir."

"I've been considering your proposal since our last meeting, Ms. Dwyer. Glad to put a story to a face now. Paige tells me you are in the military. What branch?" Daley swirls his whiskey in his glass.

"Marines. Fucked up my knee on a rescue mission outside Kandahar," Mike lies smoothly, just enough details to keep Daley sated, not enough to give anything away. "Too proud to take my oxy prescription, too smart to toss them. Started selling to some buddies, made a shit ton of cash. The doc out there wanted a cut, so we worked out a deal."

"Will the doctor's cut set back our potential business?"

"No, sir," Mike assured. Surprisingly, Daley simply nodded, accepting the vague response.

"So how did you two meet?" Daley asks absentmindedly in a bored tone and twirls the thick gold ring on his left pinky finger. It was a total cliché, the type of ring that you would see on an old time gangster.

Before Paige can get a word out, Mike leans forward and squints his eyes, pausing dramatically. "She keyed my truck back in high school."

Daley looks at Paige with a raised eyebrow and gestures for Mike to continue. He looks amused, intrigued, so Mike leers at her as if he can't wait to air out their secrets. They hadn't agreed on a particular backstory beyond having met in high school, but trust Mike to feel the seedy vibes from Daley. He looks like someone who would enjoy a tale of good, wholesome revenge. He looks like someone who would seek out any kind of violence that the world has to offer.

"Yep, smashed up my windshield and slashed my tires too, this psycho bitch," Mike laughs. "All because I fucked her best friend."

"Fucking wild," Daley nods in approval. The story gives Paige some solid street cred instead of making her seem like the clean and innocent girl refraining from the underworld of crime. It gives her a realistic start to the underlying psychotic tendencies her cover story is supposed to have.

She can't seem like just a psycho bitch, though, so Paige rolls her eyes and uncrosses her legs slowly, making sure Daley gets a good look between them. He takes his time skimming his eyes down her body and when he looks back up at her face, she winks.

"You didn't finish the story, Mike," Paige purrs and skims her hand up the inseam of Mike's pants. "The first time he came back home from Camp Pendleton, my friend Jamie and I had made up and were rooming together at UCLA. We had a nice little threesome, high off our asses on molly."

Daley tosses his head back and lets out a deep, throaty laugh at that. "See, that's the kind of shit I like to hear! Mateo, are you listening?"

The burliest bodyguard nods brusquely and Daley turns back to them with apparent approval in his eyes. "A happy ending. I like stories with happy endings. And here you two are now, _business partners_."

He emphasizes the last two words specifically, trying to pry into the current state of affairs between them. Who would have guessed the ever formidable drug dealer Gavin Daley is such a gossip.

Mike throws his arm around Paige and pulls her closer. "Business partners who are about to start working with the most powerful man this side of the Pacific."

It was a lie, of course. Daley was nowhere near the top of the list of powerful men on this side of the Pacific, but he was a regionally powerful man that they wanted to take down. Cockiness is important in this case: a blatantly narcissistic man like Daley responded best to brash arrogance and a side of flattery.

Daley smirked and stood up with Mike and Paige quickly following suit. Daley held out his hand, the first sign of an alliance. "Damn right you are. I'll send the details of our next business meeting to Paige, hmm?"

"Yes, sir," Paige murmured seductively when he kissed the back of her hand. Mike gave a respectful nod as Daley walked away.

"We're in."


	4. Chapter 4

The crushed velvet couch they're sitting on has probably seen better days, but Paige runs her fingers soothingly against the grain of the fabric in an attempt to ease her nerves. Daley walks out of the club with his bodyguards flanking him, giving a curt nod to the bouncer in front of the door.

"Wait! Did he just leave us with the tab?" Paige blurts out incredulously and Mike shoots his head up to look at her with a slack jaw.

"You're kidding," Mike snorts out a laugh and Paige follows suit, silly giggles collapsing her into Mike's side. "Hey, at least we're on good terms with him. Probably because we're paying for his whiskey. He didn't even smoke a cigar. I'm dying of lung cancer right now and he didn't even smoke."

Paige nodded against Mike's shoulder at his grumbled discontent. She finishes off her drink in a quick pull and looks questioningly at Mike's still mostly-full glass.

"All yours, Paige," he hands her the glass of amber liquid. "I'll handle the bill if you need to use the restroom."

Mike pulls his wallet out of the inside of his suit jacket and walks to the bar as she stretches her muscles and heads to the bathroom. She smiles to herself that he knows her so well. She pees like crazy after any amount of alcohol, her one downfall. She can handle her liquor just fine, but the bathroom breaks between drinks always gets to her.

He's waiting for her in the hallway outside and she takes his proffered arm. "Ms. Dwyer," Mike greets and they stroll arm-in-arm to their cover car out front. He opens the door for her like a gentleman and she rolls her eyes at his chivalry. She can't say she doesn't appreciate it, but she finds it funny that he's so polite when she knows just what kind of violence he's capable of.

"Do you think that was too easy?" Paige asks, suddenly apprehensive of how smoothly their meet had gone.

She had met with Daley twice before, early on in the operation to set her cover. The first time she approached him and said she had a way to expand his business, he held a gun to her forehead and demanded to know why she thought she was even remotely qualified to talk to him. Really, a charming character.

Paige has been in this game long enough to know how to talk her way out of a sticky situation with a calm expression, but her heart palpitations didn't go away until hours later. When Daley called her the next day to talk business with her, she brought up her military oxy connection and was surprised he agreed to meet them.

"I don't know. I expected him to put up more of a fight," Mike confesses. "Or at least ask more questions."

Paige nods sagely. "He didn't even pull a gun on you. It's a good sign, but something about this puts me on edge."

They don't say much on the drive back to Graceland, taking the back roads and long way home as per protocol. After Sid Markham found the house, then the Toros Berbarian fiasco, the house tightened their procedures on returning back to Graceland after all operations, no matter how small the meeting. The use of cover apartments became more common, but they all readily admit that being back in their own beds is infinitely better.

"We're being followed," Mike notes, his tone almost aggravated as he glances again out of the rearview mirror. "Black Chevy Suburban. You'd think they would use a less conspicuous car to tail us."

Paige tries to discreetly check the mirror on her side of the car, but the angle is wrong and she can't see anything but the vaguely-male shape of the passengers.

"Well, we can't go home then. Fuck," Paige sighs. She really wants to wash off the smell of cigars and sleazy men. "Let's just find a motel."

Mike takes his eyes off the road to stare questioningly at her.

"Pull into that gas station and let's grab some snacks and water, then we can hang out at a motel until they get bored of watching us," Paige clarifies. Mike shrugs and turns his blinker on earlier than usual to alert their stalkers of their direction. The SUV pulls into the next parking spot. They clearly weren't trained well to be inconspicuous.

He hops out of his car and walks quickly around to open Paige's door. She tangles her hand in his hair and puts her lips against his ear. "Pick me up and make out with me against the car."

It's not a request, but rather an outright instruction spoken in Paige's usual get-down-to-business voice. Mike's not one to turn down Paige's advances, especially when their covers could depend on it. So he does what she asks, throwing her long legs around his waist and pushing her skirt up along the way. Her heels dig into his spine, but all he can focus on is the feeling of Paige's soft lips against his.

It's been too long since they've done this. Mike wishes it was under different circumstances. Paige pulls away first and swings her strong legs back down to the ground.

"Good show," Mike compliments and he's proud of how he covers the bitterness in his tone that their first kiss in nearly two years was fake. He doesn't do a good enough job, obviously, when Paige gives him a half smile that almost looks sad.

"Come on, I'll pay for your weird obsession with Greek yogurt," Paige says and saunters into the gas station. "They're still watching. Slap my ass for good measure."


	5. Chapter 5

The bedspread of the motel they are at doesn't look too disastrously dirty, all things considering. Mike still chucks it on the floor and pulls back the white sheets that smell a little too strongly of bleach to be welcoming. It's clean enough, though, and that's all they really need.

There's only one bed, a king sized mattress, seeing as how asking for two beds would seem suspicious if their stalkers inquire at the motel front desk. It's large enough that they can have space between them as they sleep, no matter how much he wants to hold her tonight. But that's a thought for another time, maybe after a beer or two, alone enough to reminisce on his good times with Paige.

"So, what do you think?" The beautiful object of his thoughts breaks the silence and he turns to look at her questioningly.

"The room is fine," he states in a bit of hesitancy. She wouldn't care about where they sleep, he knows that much about her. If the operation calls for it, she would do almost anything to make it work. Spending the night in a motel is nothing.

"I mean what do you think we should do with these guys?" Paige pulls back the curtain to the window overlooking the parking lot and gives a disappointed sigh. "I think they're just going to camp out there overnight."

"At least we're on the second floor, so maybe they would be too lazy to climb the stairs to check up on us up close," Mike adds in an effort to bring up Paige's mood.

Paige flops down on the bed and kicks her high heels off carelessly. Her already short dress rides further up her thighs before she simply hikes up the hem and pulls the dress over her head.

"Should we put on a porno?" Her tone is so casual she may as well have been asking if he wanted to order a pizza.

Mike sputters out a variety of syllabus in what he knows is not a coherent answer and averts his eyes only a few seconds after taking in the scraps of red lace barely covering her. Paige definitely notices. She just laughs and grabs the remote from the nightstand and curls up with the sheet pulled up to her chin.

"Just in case they're listening, you pervert," Paige adds in clarification as she flips through the Adult category of shitty motel TV stations.

"I don't think that's necessary. Let's just get some sleep and tackle whatever happens tomorrow morning," Mike proposes and grabs the remote from Paige and turns off the TV.

A giggle escapes her lips and Mike is reminded that she's had two glasses of whiskey tonight on a nearly empty stomach. Their gas station cuisine is helping tide them over, but a proper dinner would have been nice too.

"You're not drunk, are you, Paige?"

A smirk twists Mike's lips as she laughs again and shimmies down into the sheets to get more comfortable. He knows her alcohol limits, and those two whiskeys wouldn't put her near drunkenness. Just a relaxed, fun state. Easy in a way they haven't been in years.

"Drunk Paige would already have put on a cheesy porno at full volume," Paige retorts and he nods in agreement.

Still slightly on edge from being tailed, Mike stands and grabs two bottles of water from the gas station bag on the table by the door. Walking back to the bed, he sets down one bottle on the night stand next to Paige and returns to his side. He doesn't get under the covers, still not completely certain of the situation they're in and definitely not alcohol-infused enough to strip down all willy nilly.

Mike can't say he's completely satisfied with his body yet either. It's been a year without the oxy, but the damage to his muscles still feels obvious to him. In the worst of his use, he could barely walk up the steps without getting winded. He lost weight, muscles atrophied, self-image destroyed. The extra hours running and at the gym have helped, but he still doesn't feel back to his pre-addiction state. So he stays clothed, head tilted back against the fake wood headboard, eyes on the ceiling.

Paige reaches behind her back and snaps her bra undone, throwing it haphazardly over the lampshade next to her.

Snapping out of whatever funk he's in, he realizes very distinctly that he is still wearing everything he had on at the club and Paige is down to her panties. His skin suddenly itches from the weight of his clothing and the stench of cigar smoke seems to cling to them.

"Paige," he starts, a warning edge to his voice.

"Oh, stop it, Prudence. Your virginity is not in danger tonight," Paige snaps back in mock indignation. She still has the sheet covering her and tucked around her sides. Her tone is playful and her eyes are glittering at him in that way they do when she's joking mostly at his expense.

Mike returns her smile and starts unbuttoning his shirt. He really does want to sleep, and his boxers would make it much more comfortable. He's down to his undershirt and boxers when he catches Paige eying him up and down. He decides to keep his shirt on.

"You can take your shirt off. Mine's off. It's not like my tits have been out floundering around!" At that, Paige raises her arms and waves them in her best imitation of what would indicate tits floundering around.

"Well, good, but I don't want mine floundering around either," Mike mimics her silly arm movements and all it takes is one glance for them to collapse into laughter. They move closer in their fit of giggles and lean on each other as their bodies shake.

They calm down in the same moment and turn to look at each other. They don't know who moves first, not that it matters anyway, because suddenly Paige is straddling him and their lips are locked and her hands are in his hair and his are on her hips, grinding her down against him.

Mike gasps in a gulp of air as Paige moves her mouth down to his neck and collarbone. He lets out a moan and tangles his hands deeper into her hair.

"Fuck, Paige." It comes out as more of a moan than he was expecting, and it breaks the moment. "Stop. Stop, okay? Sorry, just... Just stop."

To her credit, she pulls back immediately and if he could have found any humor in the situation, he would have chuckled at the disappointed expression on her face.

"This is unprofessional. We're still on the op," he explains and runs a hand through his hair. Paige is back on her side of the bed, sheet pulled up to her chin again.

"Yeah, you're right," Paige states tonelessly and flicks off the lamp on her side. She lies on her back and doesn't take her eyes from the ceiling. "Sorry. I guess I misread that."

He lets out a sigh and turns off his lamp too. Much easier to have this conversation with just the bare streak of moonlight coming in from the bathroom window. He rolls to face her and twists his fist into the sheets to keep from reaching for her.

"You didn't. I just don't think now—" He isn't sure how to breach the subject. He's always been good with words, bright enough to think on his feet and lie successfully, except when he's around her. He wants nothing but the truth with her after all the lies between them.

"It doesn't feel real right now. It's not real. We're high off operational adrenaline and in a motel where we can convince ourselves this is for the op," Mike says, as honest as he can be in a remotely tactful way. "When it happens again, when _we_ happen, it needs to be us, the real us. Not undercover Mike and Paige."

Paige just nods and curls up into her right side. He tries not to be hurt by her turning her back to him. Without a word, Paige throws her left hand behind her until she hits his thigh, traveling up until she has his hand in her grasp, then tugs. Mike's a champ at taking hints, though, and he slides down behind her, gently wrapping his arm around her to pull her against his chest.

"Good night, Paige."

"Night, Mike," Paige murmurs.

His best nights of sleep always happen surrounded in a scented cloud of Paige.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Thank you for reading and reviewing! Back to the operation in the next chapter!**


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